


The Tinker

by KiKiFinntastic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Character(s) of Color, Curses, Fantasy, Female Character of Color, Gen, Magic, Medieval Medicine, Prosthesis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiKiFinntastic/pseuds/KiKiFinntastic
Summary: 'Later, she faintly feels those same patters as before, only growing heavier as they near her front desk. She stands as thuds echo across the floor and into her structure. As she comes around the corner, twisting the knob on her temporal, her eyes settle upon a child. Their stained hands are clasped tightly around their cloak, and their bloodshot eyes are wide.“Help me.” 'Having her little shop in the corner of a small, tourist village is nice. Gives for good business, as the flashy tricks and maneuvers they do leave some injuries needing replacements more often than not, and provides her more chances to just relax with the sound creaking metals and cutting saws. More in a month she had ever gotten in her centuries of life, leaving her very comfortable.Then a child shows up at her doorstep, a sickness rushing into them and urgency diving her back to the wall. Will she be able to mend their cracks and save them, or watch as they waste away in her arms?





	1. The Child

The rustle of crows along the wire shakes the curtain covering a nearby merchant's goods, drawing the attention of a maiden. The crowd doesn’t notice as they are too enamored with the shows and flurry of lights surrounding them. Her eyes covered by glass peer at the curtain across the way, purple waves ceasing to have moved after the fact. Her hands deposit the bolt she had been holding on to, on to the table under her, the small noise burning at her ears. She turns and reaches past her curly crimson hair, curling her gloved hand around her ear. Or what appears to be her ear, as she fiddles with the bronze dials connecting to a molten attachment against her skull. A beat of silence, a stillness before an affirming noise comes from her throat.   
The hustle of the mob around her quiets, only feeling the vibrations as her gloved left-hand picks up that same bolt to attach it to the assembled piece of metal forming the shape of a calf muscle. It shines as the sun beats down upon her and it, sneaking it’s way past the screen of cloth she has placed to bar her away in her workshop. Save for the shadows placed and created throughout the town, the shines of the sun covers everything as far as the eye can see today. The open sign of the pub, the windows of the bank, and the open market as well as the fish within it. She distantly thinks about the shadows and the creatures within it, as they are much more interesting to her than the light that showers everyone with an innocent glow.   
The soft patters of what could be a child pass by her as she sets down her soleus replacement, backing away from her workstation. The walk she takes is swift and smooth, twirling her lavender skirt along the way to the front of her store. The thick gloves find purchase on the floating hardwood in her window, turning it so the curved letters of ‘open’ can be seen to the public. Her hand creaks as it retreats back into the shadows, leaving for the light shining on her bigger, bolder sign on the top of her door. It reads, ‘The Tinker’, carved her scrawl across the paneled wood.   
Later, she faintly feels those same patters as before, only growing heavier as they near her front desk. She stands as thuds echo across the floor and into her structure. As she comes around the corner, twisting the knob on her temporal, her eyes settle upon a child. Their stained hands are clasped tightly around their cloak, and their bloodshot eyes are wide.  
“Help me.”

The confusion overlays the stab of silence she feels, a trembling across the floor as the child shakes. Their lip quivers and within a fast movement the little one plummets to the floor. A shot of adrenaline shoots through her trying to catch but separated by slabs of wood. She knocks her acetabulum against the desk on the way around in a quick movement, the pin of pain nonexistent as she cradles them.   
Their breathing labored, a quick sign of illness when she steps up and walks briskly to her chambers. Laying the little one down she strips them of their cloak, gazing upon a crimson of blood across their tunic. Observing the wound she sees not a normal slice of a laceration, but a shattering as if this skin was made of glass. She makes quick work to clean around the edges, recalling her knowledge of disinfecting from past experiences. Applying bandages the best she can, the mechanic places a blanket across the child and waits.  
Scarlet curls bounce as she sets to dismiss menial tasks around her crook of this village. Cleaning and polishing finished pieces, dusting the window sills and shelf tops, and managing to find a place for the extra junk that was piled upon her wooden countertop. Then she decides to close her little establishment, as even if she did get a limb replacement request, a familiar tune-up, or a spark plug replacement order, she feels she would be too distracted. After many hours she begins to wonder about the crowd, always a mild rumble across the floor, a deadly silent.  
Her second most distal phalanx creaks as she shifts the window curtain to look outside. As if sensing this disturbance as well, a raven calls managing to shake the window the slightest bit. The slight vibrations doing nothing to distract her from the oddity. The crowd seeming to have vanished from sight as well as the tenders from different stalls and shops makes her wonder if this is scheduled. Did she miss the announcement of vacancy that everyone seemed to get, or did this happened to coincide with the appearance of the child?  
She’s about the open the golden latch across the entrance frame when her calculated myringa picks up the shift of cloth across the studio. Turning, a rushed thumping against the inside of her chest matches the floorboards thudding with the movement of her feet quickly gaining speed, trying to assess the scene before seeing it. First, she sees their hair splayed across the pillow, then their open hazy eyes. A cough comes from their throat as their gaze moves towards the water goblet on the bedside table. Locking oculus to their eyes, she rushes to help them sit up as her right manus grabs a hold on the cup.  
After settling them leaning on the wooden headboard, handing them the shaped container she leans back. Perching herself upon the seat next to the bed, she wonders about what type of disease could cause that kind of dama-  
“I’m terribly sorry.”   
Tearing away from her thoughts, the clink of the metal against wooden doesn’t startle her more than the voice does. Looking upon them, the unhealthy pallor of their skin, as well as the deepening shadows under their eyes, provides a visual to how much they haven’t recovered. Still looking like they are ready to pass any second they continue.  
“My name is Conlida and I need your help!” Their-Conlida’s hair does nothing to shadow their blue eyes, wide with desperation. “ I heard of your craft! You can fix people! I’ve been cursed and I’m breaking and I hoped you could help me. Since I came here searching, all I have heard from others is you. That you build people back up!”   
Well, their assumptions aren’t exactly unfactual. While the tinker is responsible for ‘building people back up’, the kind of damage she’s already seen is not the kind she can fix. She has always been based on facts, mechanics, and engineering to fix her client’s troubles. Hearing straight from Conlida’s mouth that this is curse has made her more certain. Magic has never been her realm, despite being surrounded by many sorcerers during most of her life.   
Most of all, revisiting memories she thought she had repressed in her long life, reminds her of her inability. Green flames dance across her mind, the burning, the screaming, a familiar silhouette laughing-  
A sniffle brings her back, the oculus in her skull register the image across from her. While she presumed it looked like she was contemplating the offer, tears had begun to drip from their eyes. When she clears her throat, their head comes up from wrapped hands, one of them not equaling the amount of slightness as the other. As she notices, she can’t help but think about the proposition, even knowing deep down she had already decided.   
She lifts her gloved manus to rest on the blanketed shoulder, the other hand reaching around to squeeze around for a hug. Conlida starts to cry harder, their head now laying on her glenohumeral as tears dampen the fabric of her bodice. Her mentum hits their shoulder as she nods, affirming the decision as much as a contract would. Their shaking and sobbing only increase with the knowledge from the guarantee of help.   
Across the sky, the sun begins to hide behind to clouds like a shy lover as the rain begins to slowly tumble down to meet the ground. It continues to fall with more intensity over a short amount of time, dampening the roofs of shops and homes alike. To an outsider, it appears as a seasonal shower, albeit a violent one. But to look farther, one sees slight chartreuse lighting crimping around the edges of the dark clouds.


	2. Uncertain Assumptions

The rain hasn’t begun to cease after the course of the night leading to dawn. This leaves the streets damp and left with a sheen of mirage on the far end of roads, the rising sun’s glare turning it yellow even though partly covered by clouds. The droplets run down her windows, disguising the individuals of the now returned crowd, though covered by umbrellas are still a mass of colors through the glass.  
Still, what she’s focused on right now requires investigation. It’s trouble really, having accepted an offer dealing with magic even though she has none. Like an animal in hibernation, light snores coming from the background, reminding her why she’s even doing this in the first place. She’s used to hearing of her own soft heart, too human one would like to add from time to time. This leads her to look for different sources that could help with this dilemma, which follows her to where she is now.  
The forest on the edge of the village she resides in, the very ridge of Hembroke. Many have told of flashing lights, noises that are too inhumane to be real, and different things that all lead to sorcery. It’s exactly what she was looking for while still being not specific enough for her tastes.   
For what she knows of the illness, a curse in actuality, cracks like through porcelain begin to spread throughout the body. It slowly destroys, disintegrating the limbs even though it spreads from the center. From this, she assumes she has to find a healer of some sort. The forest would be a place to start, even with the possibility of the population consisting of animals and creatures. Though, she doubts creatures could create the kind of shows that manage to find there way out of the canopy.  
The trees could possibly be a wall to hide the sorcerers inside from the outside world, knowing from experience witches tend to be incredibly secretive. This begs the question of whether the magic dwellers could be peaceful enough for that kind of coexistence and if they were to be found would they be offered that same kindness. Even so, it’s worth trying to prevent her from concocting her plan of replacing every part cracked by the curse. She doesn’t know if that will stop the curse or be effective at all, so that leaves it as a backup. Especially if it doesn’t work, losing your limbs for something that didn’t even work could be incredibly traumatizing for a child.  
With the first plan in mind, she begins to prepare. Pack the shop for closing, wrapping the previous orders to stay unrusted for when she returns, including the extra oil in her care packages for the older patrons of her service, and putting away her various wrenches. Then grab a bag for the items she plans to take with her, a heavyweight she’ll bare for both of them. By the time she feels the slightest tremble on the floor caused by the footsteps of another occupant, the finished bags sit in the corner of the wall.  
“Have you figured a way to help me yet?” The question they propose does nothing to distract her from the fact that it is way too early for this child to be standing. Conlida sways before getting a hold of the entry frame, their face containing one more fracture than before along the chin. It almost mirrors the cicatrix tissue across her own mentum, scarring like skin instead of breaking like glass.  
The disapproving look she gives conveys more than she thinks words would, as Conlida seems to shirk into a defensive pose. She stands to lead them back to bed, or even carry if they can’t, but before she gets close enough they startle. Eyes wide as they stumble, falling back against the paneled wood flooring.  
“I-I’m sorry I as-asked! I Ju-just, just-” Scrambling back, their thin bandaged hands hit the floor. She begins to back away, the palmar side of her gloves showing providing a retreat to the panic. Now she realizes the gaze that she conveyed displayed the message of disapproval to the question, not to the overexertion. It’s times like these where she wishes she would have been able to go through with the vocal cord replacement instead of leaving them to rot away inside of her throat.  
She scans around the room before gazing upon a stack of parchment, quills, and ink. Moving quickly, she turns to grab an implement with the tipped dipped in ink and begins to write. Afterward, she lifts the paper towards Conlida who has an air of scared confusion around them.  
The message reads, ‘I’m sorry for startling you. I am unable to speak which leads to me expressing my displeasure to you overexerting yourself, which you seem to have taken the wrong way. I do not wish to hurt you.’  
The expression on their face contorts from afraid to understanding in a slow movement as their eyes move slowly across the page.  
“What…? You can’t-oh. Oh, I’m so sorry!” Conlida quickly gets up, knees collapsing again before standing fully. Falling until gloved hands grab on to their biceps, forcing them up and over her glenohumeral. Not exactly the most comfortable position but it gets the job done the fastest, she thinks as she travels back to the spare bedroom where they are currently residing in.   
As she flips them back over and onto the mattress, she quickly leaves again to grab more parchment. By the time she gets back, Conlida is settled comfortably unto the pillows, though a bit pained after that rough landing. A bit hypocritical of her in hindsight, nevertheless she sits on the same chair as before to scrawl her message.   
When she turns it around it reads, ‘ I have made a plan to deal with your curse. I cannot fix your problem as sorcery is not my specialty. I’m going to need to travel to gain additional help, and you will stay here and rest.’  
“No!”, exclaims Conlida who looks very distraught to the idea, amplified by the deep shadows under their bright green eyes “I want to come with you! You’ll need me as an example of the curse, right? So I’ll have to come!”  
While that makes sense for the message she provided, the urgency is a little concerning. In the message, she meant to keep it vague for the sense that they didn’t come for something she cannot provide. To make them feel like their searching wasn’t a waste, but they couldn’t possibly go into the forest with an injured child. They could get even more injured, which completely defeats the purpose of the mission-  
“I need to go! Please!” The tears are springing up like clockwork now, adding a little shove to their persuasion. What the child is proposing is completely illogical, preposterous, and like waving a bright flag in the face of danger. Even if she agreed, she would have to wait for a few more days to move on to a place where they can even walk without stumbling.  
Still, an old acquaintance used to tell her she had a soft heart for the wee ones. This one weakness could explain why the next day, she was open for business once again and also could explain why she shushed her patrons when they were too loud, why she refused to use the welder for the next couple days, and why she went and brought food for the sick one, not having any in her shelves for months. Both of them would go to the magical and foreboding forest when they were ready. For now, she had a project to help the future process go much smoother to work on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for a while that I'm going to try to work on. Also, sorry if the pronoun she/her is used to death, or them/they in the future!


End file.
